As a model for sports illustrated, I had been asked, along with twelve of my colleagues, to come back at the end of the year to do a photo shoot for a calender they were putting together. And to boot, I was going to be on the front cover! I was excited beyond belief, and couldn’t wait to begin. The photographer took us out to the water (in the middle of November, I might add), and I posed. We took several shots, until finally the photographer told us this would be the last one, and he told me to “make it good”. I was relieved, since the water was freezing, and did my best for one more pose. But when he snapped the picture, the light blinded me, and I was knocked unconscious. When I came to I felt myself sliding slowly out of what felt like rollers, and I felt very…flat. I still felt as though I was in a bikini, and I was sitting in water though. As I slid out into the light, I found myself staring at the ceiling, unable to move. The photographer from earlier came up to me (he was now over a hundred feet tall), and picked me up as if I weighed close to nothing.
“You came out nicely, my dear,” he said. “You’ll go great on the cover of the calender.” He held me up to a mirror, and I saw him holding a flat piece of paper with my picture on it, only…it was me. I freaked out, but there was little I could do about my situation. He put me into another printer, and soon afterwards I found myself attached to the rest of my colleagues as a complete calender.
So how am I now? Well, I learned to accept the fact that I was a calender. The fact that I always feel wet is slightly annoying, but I do always look oh so sexy. Staring at some guy in his room who doesn’t even know who’s staring back. Anytime someone stares at me though, I can just feel their eyes dancing across my skin, and it heightens my pleasure a thousand fold. I guess that’s one perk. I long for the time when my owner brings guys over, and I feel three or four guys idly looking at me at once. The most annoying fact though is that I hardly see anyone anymore, seeing as it’s no longer 2012. Oh well, maybe he’ll recycle me, and I’ll become another calender. Whatever happens, it be a heck of a lot better than sitting in a drawer on top of eight other Sports Illustrated Calenders.